Legend–a story of your ancestors worth telling for its ability to inspire.
Legend–a story of your life worth living out, that your descendants might find it worthy of telling to their descendents.
I’ll begin the story I’m living out with the stories of men who came before me.
Growing up my father would tell the story of our ancestor who as a Mennonite was imprisoned, had his land confiscated by the Swiss government and then was deported along with his family. In the early 1700s they crossed the Atlantic on a merchant ship and began their new life in a new world. If I were the type to attribute my ways to my ancestors, I could blame my anti-government bias and and adventurous spirit on this ancestor.
Of course then there were the stories of my great, great, great grandfather in the 1800s, who with his people was kicked his land by various state governments because their religion was unwelcome. He must have known then that the “Land of the Free” wasn’t exactly what it claimed to be.
He was a pioneer who crossed the vast Comanche territory on foot at the height of the Comanche Empire as part of a volunteer battalion during the Mexican American War, settled on his own piece of land in the Wild West, married ten women and had fifty five children. My father pointed him out in the famous photo of the “Golden Spike,” joining the rails of America’s First Transcontinental Railroad.
A journal of my great, great, great grandfather chronicles his grief stricken weeks-long search for his eldest son who he presumed was killed by two angry American Natives.
One never knows how many more days one has to live, so with this site and the book I am writing, I am sharing many of my stories. I have no sons yet, and I don’t know if I ever will. But I still like to imagine my sons and grandsons gathered round the fire on occasion, telling their sons stories of me. I like to imagine I have and will live the sort of life that could empower and embolden young men who are making their way in this world.
The eldest of seven children, I was raised in the kind of religious environment that many might characterize as a cult. Nevertheless I profited greatly from the close family, tribe and tradition I inherited. I was proud my ancestors were American pioneers, cowboys, entrepreneurs–self-made men.
I was 14 when my father left home and my parents began a tumultuous 7-year divorce. For 3 years I endured being raised in a house of mostly women, led by my mother who was at the time raging against my father, her father, the patriarchy of the tribe and men in general. I raged against my mother and all authority.
Then at the start of my senior year of high school, my war with my mother came to an end the night she put out her hand and demanded the keys to my new ride. She might as well have been asking for my manhood that night; I bolted out the door and never looked back.
It would be a few years before I grasped the tragedy of the situation I’d left my two younger brothers in: fending for themselves with no father and no older brother to provide the critical male mentoring role that all young men need. I was just struggling to survive, attempting to make sense of the world and to find my place in it.
Eight years of self-liberation and impassioned exploration passed. In that span of time I had fully liberated myself from the cult, started a business and taken both my brothers, now 20 and 16, and a young man who would later become our brother-in-law, under my wing. It was late 1996 when the above photo was taken. My brothers and I were about to embark on the most transformative year of our lives.
My apartment became a training center for entrepreneurs, free thinkers and self-responsible men united not just as brothers, but as allies. A year later they each went on their way into the world as confident entrepreneurs pursuing mastery in all arenas of life. I went on with deep clarity and vision of my life purpose.
I then took in more young men, primarily societal outcasts such as drug addicts and ex-cons. I hired them as laborers in my Texas landscaping business, loaded them with levels of responsibility and accountability they weren’t used to and pushed them to forge themselves into men and entrepreneurs.
By the year 2000 two of those young men I would lose to conflicts with police, who as soldiers fighting the “war on drugs,” completely failed these young men. I both grieve and am proud of the fact that for a number of these young men, I was the only man in their life who really gave a fuck.
I would go on to develop what I view as a martial art for the human mind and spirit, leading “boot camps” and trainings for leaders, freedom fighters, activists, rebels, entrepreneurs and visionaries.
I don’t give a fuck if this story sounds grandiose or self-important. I’m telling it to draw forth the kind of men I’d like to journey through this life with. Men who give a fuck. About being a man. A warrior. For your people.
I’m writing a book, more or less autobiographical, which opens with me waking up one morning in the Middle East. They year: 2010. The government is telling us the Iraq War is over, and as I stare off into the Persian Gulf, I’m fucking pissed. And I’m lost. I’ve had enough of the government and culture I was raised to revere.
You can join my list to get chapters and ideas from my book, by using the form below.
You’ll hear true stories of my run-ins with Alex Jones, Ron Paul, Texas cops, Bill Clinton, tribal peoples, Ayahuasca… and of my adventures and awakenings in liberty, warriorship and women across six continents. You’ll also get links and invitations to private audios, videos and trainings both online and off.
The book is unfinished, as is my life story and purpose. This site as my invitation to you to claim the natural wealth that your culture has likely deprived you of. True liberty. A tradition of honor. Brothers who no-shit have your back. Elders worth honoring and learning from. A connection to your ancestors. A life worth living–really fucking living. And something worth fighting for.